


Where Have You Been (I’ve Waited Oh So Long for You)

by a_static_world



Series: This Life That We've Created [1]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Adoption, BAMF Jaskier | Dandelion, Baby Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon, Dadfic, Destiny, Established Relationship, Fluff, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Has Feelings, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia is Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon's Parent, Kaer Morhen, M/M, SO MUCH FLUFF, So much fluff your teeth will ache, Young Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon, kind of, they're dads! (boogie woogie woogie)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-17
Updated: 2020-05-17
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:53:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24236833
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_static_world/pseuds/a_static_world
Summary: Pavetta and Duny are dead. Come claim your child.Geralt scanned the letter, over and over. What the actual fuck had he gotten himself into?Or,Calanthe decides to give Ciri to Geralt after her parents die, and Geraltmelts into witcher gooaccepts the challenge.
Relationships: Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon & Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon & Jaskier | Dandelion, Eskel & Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Lambert, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Vesemir, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: This Life That We've Created [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1752847
Comments: 61
Kudos: 718





	Where Have You Been (I’ve Waited Oh So Long for You)

**Author's Note:**

> any time Jaskier is singing to Ciri, he's singing [Fair](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2mBVP9Z_sac) by The Amazing Devil. Enjoy!

_ Pavetta and Duny are dead. Come claim your child.  _

Geralt scanned the letter, over and over. It was a shame; Pavetta and Duny seemed so tender, so loving, perfect candidates for parenthood. Just like that, they were nothing more than memories, words on a page.  _ Shit _ . 

What the actual fuck had he gotten himself into? What had he been thinking, claiming the law of surprise so carelessly? Destiny was horseshit, he knew that, but everyone else seemed to think the child was  _ his _ , fucking hell. Apparently Calanthe was too busy running a kingdom to raise the girl and. She wanted  _ Geralt _ to raise her. Gods, he was too busy staring into the past to care for a child.

“Ah, Geralt, darling, is something the matter? Only I can see the steam positively  _ pouring _ out of your ears, dear, and a witcher shouldn’t think overmuch.”

Geralt startled back, the noise and bustle of the tavern flooding his ears as he snapped his gaze to Jaskier’s sky blue, rather concerned eyes. 

“Calanthe...she wants me to raise the child.”

Geralt had thought he’d seen Jaskier happy, thought he knew what the bard looked like at his most joyous. 

He’d been fucking  _ wrong _ , shitting hells, what he wouldn’t give to make Jaskier look this way forever. His face had softened, and there was this...light, in his eyes, so bright it made Geralt’s heart hurt, just a little. Not that he’d ever say it aloud.

“Oh,  _ Geralt.  _ When do we go?”

Here’s the thing: Geralt had not been planning on going. Let Calanthe sort out her own shit, keep the girl until she was old enough to pack off to Aretuza or, Melitele forbid, Kaer Morhen. But something in his chest tugged him toward Cintra, and he was positively  _ helpless _ against the look Jaskier gave him.  _ A kid _ . Surely there were worse things in the world? He’d much rather raise a (how old could she be? Two? Three?)  _ small _ human than, say, a striga. 

“Tomorrow.” 

They were, luckily, only a few days out from the Cintran border, and Jaskier didn’t shut his mouth the whole fucking time, head pressed between Geralt’s shoulderblades as he babbled. 

“Geralt, dear, do you think they’ll provide us with what we need, or should we stop somewhere and stock up? Only I’d  _ hate _ to be underprepared, do you think they’re out of nappies, yet?”

Geralt could only hum noncommittally, letting his bard talk himself in circles about food and bathing and nappies until he tied his tongue into knots. Something tensed low in his gut whenever he let himself properly think about the looming responsibility of fatherhood, and so he didn’t (he was not nervous. Witchers do not get nervous.).

They rode up to the gates a few days later, Jaskier uncharacteristically quiet. A tense silence settled over them, Roach’s hooves crunching over the fall leaves the only sound as they made for the stables. Mousesack greeted them there, looking equal parts harried and happy to see them. 

“Their highnesses are right this way, if you’d follow me. Cirilla just woke up from her nap. Calanthe is...not exactly pleased, with the situation, but she and Eist have agreed that they simply do not have time to raise the girl, and that Destiny-” Geralt rolled his eyes “-must be obeyed.”

_ Cirilla. She’s a girl, then. _

Mousesack opened the door to the throne room, where only a few years earlier Geralt had gotten them into this whole mess. Jaskier was humming, bouncing on his toes as they waited, drumming his hands against his thighs. Geralt reached over, tangling their fingers together, trying to will some of the nervous energy away. The bard relaxed, took a deep breath, squeezing his hand and looking at him as if to say  _ okay, we’ve got this. We’re fine. _

They made it all of three steps into the room before there was a patter of small feet against the marble; Geralt barely heard the shouts of “Ci _ rilla _ ” before he was kneeling, braced for the impact of the tiny body. And then she was there, soft and sleep-warm and tow-headed, arms flung around Geralt’s neck as he held her gently (he was going to break her,  _ Melitele _ she was small). 

It was like...like a missing piece had been filled in, the “i” of his life dotted at last. In that moment, as stupid as it sounded, Geralt somehow understood the reason he was born.  _ This is my destiny _ . The pressure of Jaskier’s hand on his shoulder, the princess now fast asleep against his chest. He forced himself to stand, shifting the girl higher in his arms and allowing Jaskier to brush her hair off his face.  _ She’s got so much fucking hair. _

They turned as one, Jaskier’s hip pressed into his, facing the calmly irate queen. Her eyes blazed as she took in the sight. Eist rubbed soothing circles on her back, a brave thing for a man to do, seeing as the Lioness of Cintra seemed rather inclined to bite, just now. Geralt pitied her, he truly did. He’d held Cirilla for all of three minutes and he knew that if  _ anything  _ happened to her, he’d kill everyone in that room. Slowly. But she’d made her choice. 

He nodded at her and Eist, just once. Nodded to Mousesack, as well, who fell into step as they exited the throne room. 

“Her things are prepared; they’ve been loaded onto an extra horse, as part of the Queen’s thanks.”

Geralt snorted, tossing a look at Jaskier, who barely stifled a grin before he softened, gazing at the little girl.  _ Their _ little girl, now, because Geralt was  _ not _ fucking doing this without Jaskier. Geralt of Rivia, feared and renowned witcher, was the most ill-prepared father on the planet, he was pretty sure. He shifted Cirilla, handing her to Jaskier gently so she wouldn’t wake, and his cold, mutated heart swelled as the bard’s eyes went wide, settling the child against his shoulder and shielding her face as they stepped into the courtyard. 

Mousesack stopped, grinning at the two of them. 

“Geralt of Rivia, a  _ father.  _ Someone, somewhere, owes me money, I think. Destiny’s a bitch, witcher, but you seem to be handling this remarkably well.” 

Geralt only trained his eyes on Jaskier, who bounced Cirilla gently as he walked them towards the stables where, as promised, a second horse laden with baby-things waited. 

“We’ll see how this goes. Is there a return policy?”

Mousesack laughed, clapping Geralt’s shoulder before turning back towards the castle. Geralt nodded again as he moved towards the stable, ears picking up on Jaskier’s steady cooing. 

“-the  _ prettiest _ girl, aren’t you, Cirilla darling, look  _ just _ like your mum. And a bit like Geralt, with all that hair, if I’m honest, but  _ much _ lovelier. Don’t tell him I said that, he’d never forgive me- oh, hello, Geralt dear. Shall you hold her, or should I?”

_ Let me _ , he almost said, before realizing the tactical disadvantage riding with a child would present. She was a princess, word would get out soon enough, and a witcher was a heavy target; it was safer to have her ride with Jask, that way they could get away if something were to happen. 

“You take her, for now. Here, let me.” 

He took Cirilla (Ciri? Rilla?), allowing Jaskier to settle himself on Roach Two before handing her up. He swung himself up onto Roach, casting a look back at Jaskier, who had one arm wrapped securely around Ciri and one loosely holding the reins. The bard caught his eye, smiling, and nodded. 

_ Let’s go. _

They’d cleared Cintra by sundown, riding into the nearest village and renting a room. Calanthe had included a rather full purse in the princess’s belongings, which were (thankfully) plain, housed in normal-looking leather saddlebags. The princess had awoken an hour into their ride, chatting back to Jaskier as he conversed with her seriously, breaking off small bits of bread to keep her occupied and fed as they rode. 

That night they stumbled into their room, road weary and elated all at once. Ciri reached for Geralt as soon as he set their bags down, and he swung her up off the bed just to hear her giggle. He’d gone his whole life without this, somehow. He found himself fucking  _ cooing _ as Jaskier went downstairs to fetch their supper, talking to the toddler as if she could understand him. He realized, weakly, that he had absolutely no fucking clue about how a two-year-old worked, and that maybe she  _ did  _ understand him. 

“Hello there, little one. I don’t think we’ve met properly- I’m Geralt, ah, dad? I’m your dad, now, I guess, and I’m gonna mess up quite a bit, I think it’s important you know that. But I’ll try, I promise I will.” 

Ciri only blinked at him, reaching out and patting his cheek. 

“Hi, dad.” 

Fuck, he was  _ not _ crying, that was  _ not  _ a tear that Jaskier brushed off his jaw after he’d set their plates down. He wasn’t too choked up to swallow his meat, not at all, watching Cirilla handle the spoon and messily attempt to put potatoes and tiny bits of roast in her mouth. Jaskier said nothing, merely helping Ciri feed herself and occasionally nudging Geralt to do the same. Melitele above, eight hours with a child and he’d turned into a puddle of goo; he’d be the laughingstock of the keep. 

After they’d eaten Geralt took their plates downstairs, requesting a small washtub while he answered the barmaid’s questions about Ciri. Yes, she was his; yes, he and the bard were raising her together; no, she wasn’t yet out of nappies. He carried the tub upstairs, warming it with a quiet  _ igni _ , nudging the door open to the messy sounds of a lute. He found Jaskier sat on the floor, Cirilla in his lap, grabbing at the strings of the instrument as Jaskier winced. 

“Gentle now, Cirilla darling, the lute is for  _ strumming, _ not plucking, this isn’t a mandolin. Hello, dear, I was just giving our girl her first lesson, but  _ now,”  _ he trilled, turning his attention back to the child, “I think it’s time for someone’s bath!”

Somehow, over the course of a ten-minute bath, both he and Jaskier got soaked to the bone, and when they dried Ciri off she  _ still _ had soap in her hair. She was yawning, though, and they barely got her into her nightdress before she started to flop about. Jaskier laid her on the bed, kissing her forehead before turning and resting his own against Geralt’s shoulder. 

“Not bad, for day one. Though I will say, I don’t think I’ve  _ ever _ been this exhausted in my  _ life _ .” 

Geralt hummed, folding the bard into his arms and closing his eyes, content to stand there for as long as Jaskier would let them. 

Which was not long. 

“Come on, you great brute, to bed with us both before we lock our knees and sleep on the floor by accident.”

They somehow managed to fit all on the one bed, legs tangled together, bodies curved towards each other with Ciri in the middle. Geralt stretched an arm out, settling his hand on Jaskier’s hip, feeling the rise and fall of Cirilla’s tiny chest against his forearm. 

He slept more deeply that night than he had in years. 

“I think we should ride for Kaer Morhen.”

Geralt broached the subject carefully, waiting until Jaskier had enough breakfast in him to be receptive. To his surprise, however, the bard only nodded, chewing his bread thoughtfully as one hand helped Cirilla manage her own plate. Geralt could only marvel at how  _ good _ Jaskier was at this; he was so grateful he barely had time to be jealous.

“I think that’s probably wise. We need somewhere secure to figure out how this-“ he gestured to Ciri, who had more tomatoes down her front than on her plate- “is going to work. Not having to worry about coin and witchering would be a bonus.” 

“Dad,  _ look!”  _

Geralt’s daughter had shoved her fork up her nose. 

Kaer Morhen it was. 

They paid the innkeep, allowing her to coo over Cirilla (hidden behind Geralt’s calf) one last time before loading up Roach and-  _ Rascal _ , as Ciri called her. Rascal it was, then; the mare seemed nothing but placid to Geralt, but he was quickly realizing that he would let the girl get away with anything. Gods, he’d never be able to reprimand her. 

“I wanna ride with  _ dad _ .”

“Cirilla, darling, I know, but it’s not exactly safe-“

“Dad! Dad! Dadadadadadadad  _ DAD!”  _

Jaskier shot a tense look at Geralt, desperately trying to hold onto a wriggling mass of seething little girl.  _ What the fuck do I do _ , and as much as Geralt wanted Ciri to stop screaming as fast as possible he was, selfishly, relieved to see that Jask was as clueless as himself. He wordlessly took the child, feeling her quiet in his arms before setting her on her feet and kneeling down to face her. 

“Ciri, love, you have to ride with papa. It’s not safe for you to ride with dad right now, alright? Plus, your papa’s pretty fun to ride- with.”

Ciri nodded, shoving a thumb in her mouth and moving to press her head against Jaskier’s thigh as the man in question blushed bright red. Geralt heard Jask let out a breath, heaving the child into his arms. 

“C’mon, darling, up we get. There’s a good girl.” 

They could do this, right? Geralt let Roach into a walk and slipped into thought, the sound of Ciri asking Jaskier about various plants providing white noise for his pondering. They were a fair few weeks out from Kaer Morhen; it would be a trial by fire to see how well Cirilla handled hours of nothing but horses and empty road. It was  _ entirely _ another matter to think of how his brothers and Vesemir would react. 

They hardly knew Jaskier, for gods’ sakes, and the last time he’d brought the bard to Kaer Morhen there had been a rather, ah,  _ embarrassing  _ display of jealousy on his part. To be fair, they’d just barely wandered into we-exclusively-fuck-each-other territory, and Geralt had been tetchy at best and downright  _ feral _ at worst. He was pretty sure he’d held a butterknife to Lambert’s throat. 

Twice. 

Anyway, the  _ altercation _ had led to a nice long chat about boundaries and general relationship rules and how we did not threaten other witchers with bodily harm for placing a hand on Jaskier’s back, please. Oh, and sex, of the mindblowing variety. Gods, how was  _ that _ gonna work, with a kid around? They’d figure something out; Jaskier was nothing if not...resourceful. 

Geralt was called back to the present, thankfully, before his thoughts wandered down a much different track. 

“Dad! Look! There’s a- papa, what was it?”

“A lark, darling. Singing so pretty  _ just _ for you!”

Geralt slowed Roach, pulling her next to Rascal and grinning at Ciri. 

“You know, your papa sings just like a lark. Go on, ask him to.”

He watched as Jaskier blushed, then began to sing something low and soothing. Ciri’s eyes went wide, her little body twisted all the way around in the saddle to watch Jaskier. Jask had let her take the reins, at some point, and his hands were busy braiding back her hair as he sang. Moments like these, Geralt wished he had some way to slow time down, make it last forever. 

He remembered, distantly, telling Jaskier that the last thing he wanted was someone needing him- the night he claimed the Law of Surprise, gods. How much had changed. 

It took them four weeks of travel to reach the base of the mountain; Geralt was grateful they’d made it before the nights got truly cold, though they often awoke to a fine layer of frost on the windows the further north they moved. Cirilla had borne the constant travel remarkably well for a wiggly, curious child. Geralt positively  _ glowed _ on the inside whenever an innkeeper or barmaid commented  _ how well behaved, what a pretty child, how sweet she is _ , and he didn’t even mind when Jaskier laughed at him for it. 

She threw tantrums, of course. Luckily, she only really wound herself up when they were alone; her screaming would occasionally topple a nearby tree or shatter a boulder. She had her mother’s gift, that was for  _ fucking _ sure. 

There were nights when they slept like logs, smashed into the tiny bed of some inn somewhere. There were nights when  _ Ciri _ slept, and Jaskier got feet in his ribs and Geralt got a mouthful of hair. There were nights when a brawl erupted downstairs, or down the hall, or in the room next, and Jaskier would pull out his lute and sing to distract the girl from the shouting. 

Basically, by the time they reached the path to the keep, they were bone fucking tired. Jaskier’s dark circles were so profound Geralt half thought he’d been punched, and he knew his own hair was as unkempt and ratty as Cirilla’s was clean and neatly arranged. He didn’t even care; all he wanted was his own bed, a hot meal, and alone time with Jaskier beyond a quick mutual wank once Ciri was asleep. 

Kaer Morhen was not exactly fit for a child (who had the startling ability to disappear if you ever turned your back on her, sweet Melitele save them), but Geralt would be grateful to have people he trusted to watch over her. Two more days. Two more days, and they could collapse into a puddle of family goo and sleep for as long as Cirilla would let them.

Geralt’s heart hammered as they approached the keep, the imposing structure bringing back a flood of sour memories, as it always did. The angst, however, was dulled by a  _ howling _ child, who had been sobbing into Jaskier’s shoulder for the past hour and a half because he wouldn’t let her stop and pet a rabbit they’d seen. 

“Can’t you get her to  _ stop.”  _ He bit out, tossing the words over his shoulder. 

“My fucking apologies, darling, am I not trying hard enough? Only she’s rather fucking  _ upset _ about this whole fucking rabbit business, and they don’t exactly write books on how to tell your daughter she can’t pet a disease-laden wild animal on the side of the path simply because she  _ wants to _ .” 

Ciri continued to wail, stifled only minorly by Jaskier’s now-soaked doublet, and Geralt huffed a breath through his nose. Fantastic first impression, she’d give, absolutely fucking  _ stellar.  _

“Melitele, Geralt, that one’s got lungs on her fit to blow the horns at rapture. Hullo, Jaskier.”

Jaskier only nodded, guiding Rascal through the gates and still attempting to quiet the child. She seemed to be winding down, thank the gods, as her cries dissolved into hiccuping sobs. Geralt guided Roach alongside the other witcher, feeling his face crease into a smile. 

“Eskel. Was hoping you’d be here.”

“The White Wolf, settling down at last. Never thought I’d live to see the day. Does that make me an uncle- and Vesemir a grandfather?”

Eskel shook with laughter as the men closed the gates behind him, following Rascal to the stables. If Geralt wasn’t so road-weary, he’d probably laugh too. The thought of Vesemir as a doting grandfather was about six different kinds of wrong. 

“It makes you a babysitter, so me and Jask can fucking  _ sleep _ .” 

“Mmm, yes, because you two will do such an awful lot of  _ sleeping. _ I still don’t think Lambert’s entirely forgiven you, if I’m honest.” 

“Good. Maybe he’ll learn to keep his hands off my bard.”

But his words carried no heat, and Eskel only clicked his tongue as they stabled their horses and made for the keep, catching up with Jaskier and a now-sleeping Cirilla.

“Hello, Eskel, I’m terribly sorry for earlier, it’s just I was a little preoccupied, you see.” Jaskier made quick work of shifting the sleeping bundle of toddler into Geralt’s arms, striking up a conversation that Geralt (mercifully) did not have to take part in.

He focused instead on Ciri, wiping away the last of the tears and snot on her face, breathing in the scent of powder and lavender soap and clean skin that was so undeniably  _ Cirilla _ . He brushed back the hair that had escaped from her plaits in her fury, soothed the wrinkle in her tiny forehead with his thumb. Gods, he was so  _ afraid _ . Afraid of fucking up, afraid to leave her, afraid of what the future held. 

He barely registered entering the keep, only realizing Lambert and Vesemir were there when Jaskier nudged him, softly. 

“Welcome back, Geralt. I see you’ve brought...guests.”

“Thank you, Vesemir. This is Cirilla, and you of course remember Jaskier.”

“The bard that stirred up so much trouble the last time. Brought a helper, have you? Heard her screaming from all the way up here.”

Jaskier grinned, some of the sparkle lighting back into his eyes. Geralt watched as they chatted, occasionally chiming in, but soon caught Jaskier’s eye, jerking his head in the general direction of his quarters. Jaskier, gods bless him, caught on. 

“Gentlemen, if you’d excuse us, we’re rather fucking exhausted, and sorely in need of a bath. If you’re lucky, the princess Cirilla and her two doting servants may join you for supper.”

The three witchers chuckled as Jaskier tipped them a wink, allowing Geralt to take his hand and guide him back to their room. He opened the door not to the cloud of dust he’d expected, but to a marginal amount of dust, fresh linens, and a stack of firewood. Gods bless Vesemir for expecting him. He laid Cirilla gently on the bed, barely setting her down before Jaskier’s arms twined around his waist. Geralt chuckled softly, turning in the bard’s grasp and reaching up to thread a hand in his hair as the other man tucked his face in Geralt’s neck. 

“We fucking made it.” Whispered against his skin, even that much contact had Geralt’s cock stirring, his other arm coming to wrap around Jaskier’s waist. He groaned as Jaskier pressed a kiss to his pulse point, his jawline, canting his hips forward. He’d just tilted the bard’s face towards his when there was a knock at the door, and all Geralt could manage was a growl. 

“I am  _ not _ coming in, but I’ve left a cot, a tub, and water outside your door, for whenever you randy bastards are ready. Adieu, lovebirds.”

“Thank you, Eskel.” Jaskier managed, before Geralt’s mouth covered his own. He broke off, letting Jaskier catch his breath, and was surprised when he strongarmed Geralt away. 

“Nope. Bath first. You smell, I smell, and I flat out  _ refuse _ to put my face  _ anywhere near _ your cock until it is sparkling.”

He had a point; Geralt couldn’t rake his fingers through his own hair without wincing, and Jaskier was covered in all manner of baby snot and food and various other toddler-adjacent ephemera. A bath would be nice. So he made his way to the door, carried in the tub, got Ciri settled in the cot as Jaskier stripped and filled the bath. 

“Warm, please, darling.” 

Soon they were both awkwardly wedged into the warm, lemongrass-scented water, and  _ Melitele _ , he’d missed bathing. Jaskier yawned as he washed Geralt’s hair, and Geralt found himself with increasingly heavy lids as he scrubbed the dust off the other man’s back. Somehow, they both managed to get clean, drying off with a singular towel Jaskier had dug out of a chest somewhere. 

Their cocks utterly forgotten, they collapsed into the bed, Jaskier drawing the blankets up over their shoulders and cuddling in close. Geralt had missed this; as much as he loved Ciri, it was a nice thought knowing they wouldn’t wake up with bruised ribs and jaws from the mobile little sleeper. He settled his chin onto the top of Jaskier’s head, and promptly fell fast asleep.

They awoke a short while later to Ciri worming her way in between them, and Geralt waited until both she and Jaskier resumed their soft snoring before falling back asleep. Yeah, no way in hell were they making it to dinner. 

They woke in time for breakfast, however. Actually, Geralt and Ciri woke in time for breakfast, and he made a game of  _ don’t wake papa _ as he got them both dressed and ready for the day. She giggled as he shut the door softly, laughing louder as he scrunched up his face to shush her. He explained every room to her on the way to the great hall, pointing out the armory, the kitchen, the apothecary, watching as her big eyes drank in the new surroundings. 

She hid her face in his shirt as they entered the hall, sneaking peeks at the rugged witchers and gripping Geralt tight. 

“It’s alright, love. These are-” He cast about for a word. Eskel had been joking when he’d said  _ uncle _ , but, really, what other term was there? Luckily, he was saved by Lambert piping up. 

“Guess we’re your uncles. Uncle Lambert,” He gestured to himself, before sweeping his hand at the other two men. 

“And Uncle Eskel, and, of course, Grandfather Vesemir.”

Vesemir scowled halfheartedly as Geralt sat down, jostling Ciri slightly to get her to peek out. 

“Say hi, Ciri.”

“Hi, Ciri.” The girl mumbled, sneaking a glance from Geralt’s shoulder, causing the witchers to positively  _ roar _ with laughter. Even Vesemir softened, just slightly, as Ciri raised her head and smiled. He pushed his plate towards her, and Geralt just barely caught her as she pitched forward to grab it. He settled her on the bench, a hand loosely grasping the back of her dress, making the mental note to find a block of wood high enough that she could sit instead of stand to eat. 

“I’d’ve brought a baby first, if I’d known it would make Vesemir give up his breakfast.” 

Geralt grinned as Vesemir scowled again, rapping Eskel on the back of the head. He stole a bit of bacon off of Ciri’s plate, holding up a hand in mock surrender when she glared at him. He sat back as Eskel chatted for the best part of an hour, handing Ciri a bit of charcoal so she could scribble on the table when she was done eating. He scented Jaskier before he heard him, yawning as he strolled into the hall.

“I see you’ve both managed to survive without me. Good morning, Cirilla, love. Good morning, Geralt.” Jaskier dropped a kiss on both their heads before sliding onto the bench beside Geralt. The rest of the witchers looked at him expectantly. 

“What, no kisses for us?” Eskel teased, flicking a glance towards Geralt. 

“Sorry, boys, but I’m afraid I’m taken.”

“Yeah, papa doesn’t  _ wanna  _ give you kiss!”

Eskel looked properly chastised, bowing his head as Geralt shook with laughter and Jaskier shot Ciri a pleased look. She’d clearly picked up some  _ sass _ from Jask, and Geralt wouldn’t have it any other way. 

He’d unwittingly tied his destiny to hers, claiming her as his own before she was even born, and at first he’d resented it. Felt dirty, for stealing away Pavetta and Duny’s joy. He forced it out of his mind, focused on, as Jaskier called it,  _ witchering _ , throwing himself into his work. 

Now? He wouldn’t exchange the little girl for anything in the world. Let them all call him monster, mutant, cold and unfeeling and unnatural. Jaskier loved him, and Cirilla loved him, and that was enough. He had this life that they’d created, inundated with the fated thought of the future, of raising a daughter, of settling down, trying his hand at a steady trade, maybe. For now they’d weather the winter here, safe and warm and fed, and Geralt could already see the chaos that toddler-proofing the keep would bring. 

And, for once, when he looked forward, it felt better than looking behind. 

****  
  


**Author's Note:**

> hello again, loves, it me static back with another sappy witcher fic, because these two deserve happiness and also to be dads  
> this was written largely from 11 pm-2 am, when I get all soggy on the inside and music hits a little harder  
> i finally got [oddconstellation](https://archiveofourown.org/users/anoddconstellationofthoughts) to listen to The Horror and The Wild, and have been teasing them mercilessly with this dadfic for like, a week, so here you go  
> always always, come find me on [tumblr](https://astaticworld.tumblr.com/), I love talking to you all so much!


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